


paper hearts

by jetaiaimee



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Returning Home, Reunions, Songfic, hmmmmm, idk how to tag whew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26964877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetaiaimee/pseuds/jetaiaimee
Summary: Superstar rapper Jisung reminisces on the days before he was taken into the company, the days when he still had Minho.a songfic based on “paper hearts” by tori kelly
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 2
Kudos: 72
Collections: Minsung





	paper hearts

**Author's Note:**

> hello lgbtq community 
> 
> last real person fic i'll ever write 
> 
> special thanks to my editors <3 keeses for you all mwah mwah

_ Goodbye love, you flew right by love _




Jisung loved how it was back home. 

It was just beginning to snow as he stepped off the train. He breathed a sigh of relief, watching it as it dissipated into the atmosphere. The air was crisp, fresh — like it had been all those years growing up, like it had been every winter. Everything still felt the same as it did before. Even looking around the train station at the people walking to and from each terminal reminded him of that day seven years ago when he left home. 

The car ride back was silent, Jisung staring out the window the entire time, watching as they passed by every building he knew so well but couldn't remember, everywhere he grew up with but seemed to have suddenly slipped his mind. He used to know these roads like the back of his hand. Everything they passed on the highway was once ingrained into his mind, cemented by the number of times they'd used this route. Now, it just brought back a feeling of nostalgia. Young Jisung never would have imagined he would soon be driven down this highway not by his father but by his manager. 

They took the exit off the highway, and everything became so much more familiar. Though he knew the highways like the back of his hand, these local roads were melted into his instinct. There was the mall there, where Jisung and his friends used to hang out all the time, blowing their hard-earned money on video games, snacks and the occasional pair of shoes or a t-shirt. There was that restaurant he'd always go to after school because the manager took care of him when he was little. He’d always beg for discounts with his puppy eyes, but never complained about any of the prices. Oh, and that quaint little café across the street—

—was where he'd always be, watching Minho make coffee, pastries and everything in between. 

A dull ache settled in Jisung's heart. Oh, how much he missed Minho. He didn't even know how he got through the first couple trainee years without him there by his side. It still stung like the day they left each other, like a cold, deep cut slashed through his soul. 

As much as he told himself it was for the greater good, he still couldn't melt away that pain, even after all this time. 

He missed home. He missed his parents and his sister and his best friends and Minho. Sometimes he'd sit in the recording studio, his body aching for a break that he couldn't possibly take, and wonder why he chose to take this road. He’d been so happy at home - he could have hit it big even as an ordinary person, maybe as a lawyer doing production on the side — so why had he chosen to abandon his happiness, his love, for a future that brought him success but broke him perhaps beyond repair? 

_ Nah, don't be so dramatic.. This is what you love to do. You chose this because you love to rap, you love to write, you love music.  _

_ But you also loved Minho. _

He just missed everyone so much. 

The car pulled up to the apartment complex, the place where it all started. Home. And yet, it continued to remain mostly unchanged throughout everything, Sure, Jisung could definitely see the new paint job and the obvious repairs that were done, but it still felt like home and nothing was going to change that. He wondered if any of his old neighbours still lived there. Perhaps it was time for a reunion. 

“This is it.” his manager said, pulling the key out of the car. “Welcome back. Feels good, eh?”

Jisung gave a smile in response. 

“Again, I apologize for the fact that your rest time has to be so short,” sighed the other man. “You deserve way more than just three days.” 

“It's alright.” replied Jisung. “I know what I have to do when I get back, so I’ll make the best of it while I'm here.” 

His manager smiled back. “Well then, I won't waste your time. I've already informed your family you're here. I'm sure you're dying to see them. Go ahead, now. See you in three days.” 

“Thanks for everything.” 

“My pleasure.” 

As he stepped out of the car, he was immediately greeted by a girl with short, dark hair, bursting out of the main entrance. “Jisung!” his sister yelled, quickly enveloping him in a tight hug. “You're finally back!”

“Yeah, I guess I am, haha,” Jisung said, as his sister squeezed him tighter. “Stop- stop, that's too much—”

“Am I not allowed to celebrate when my big brother comes home after not seeing him for seven years?” Jiyeon pouted. “You never complained when I did it before.” 

“Ah, but times are different now. I am old and frail and tired, nothing like the youth I was before.” 

“Quit being dramatic. You're only twenty-five.” 

“I've worked so much I may as well be sixty.” 

She didn't answer to that. “Where's your mask? Aren't idols supposed to conceal their identities? Especially someone like you?”

“Well, there's no one around, isn't there? Plus, tabloids aren't allowed to take pictures on private property.” 

“Let's just get you inside.”

It was nice having someone he knew in the elevator with him. Jisung was too scared to even imagine what could have happened if someone recognized him. Though, in retrospect, it would have been his own fault for not concealing his identity with a mask like every other idol. But as he looked to Jiyeon beside him, he felt safe. 

And though it was his own sister beside him, she reminded him faintly of Minho — them taking this very elevator to Jisung’s after school, or descending to go grab snacks at the convenience store nearby.

His old doorstep still looked the same as it did seven years ago. That alone brought back memories — Jisung bringing his friends over to study and play video games, Jisung coming home from school and being greeted by Jiyeon, Jisung standing outside the door with Minho, praying that his parents hadn't returned early. 

This was what he wanted — to return home after so many years apart, to reunite with the people he loved so much, to look back on everything from the past. 

He didn't even have to knock before the door swung open. 

“Mom!” Now it was his turn to yell and embrace his mother in his arms. “Oh my, I missed you so much, and Dad too, and your cheesecake — aah, the bakery near the dorm has good cheesecake but never as good as yours-” 

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” his mom smiled. “Look at you! You've gotten so big! My little boy is all grown up now, and successful! Have you eaten yet? Come inside, quick. You too, Jiyeon. The food’s getting cold.” 

His dad was in the dining room placing out chopsticks on the dinner table, and Jisung made sure to give him a big hug too. “I'm back, Dad. Only for a couple days, but that doesn't matter. I'm back.” 

“Jiyeon had to make all the kimchi while you were gone,” his dad laughed, returning the hug. “You'll have to pay her back for that later.” 

“It's still not as good as yours unfortunately, but if you're gonna keep leaving us like this, I’ll catch up to you in no time!” Jiyeon shot back as she entered the dining room. 

“I'm proud of you.” Jisung looked up into his dad's eyes, which were softer than ever. “I really am. I'm sorry for doubting you before.” 

“Don't worry. It's all in the past now,” replied Jisung. Breaking apart, he looked to the full table of food and immediately licked his lips. “We can talk over dinner, can’t we? I’m starving!” 

~

The first day he had spent mostly on the road but ultimately came back to a flourish of good food and good thoughts. He hadn't felt this good in a while — sure, being onstage made him happy, but there was a certain joy that came with finally going back to somewhere you were safe and loved. And that was home. 

"Your old room is still there. We just sort of piled your stuff into a box on the floor, though,” said Jiyeon as Jisung carried his suitcase. “It's sort of a guest room now, but you're definitely welcome in your own room.”

"That's fine." Jisung didn't really have any decorations in his room anyway, unlike Jiyeon, whose room was covered with posters, albums and photocards. Jisung remembered how he’d first discovered the industry - Jiyeon shoving a newspaper into his face and pointing at the huge audition ad in the middle. The both of them had attended that first audition, Jiyeon for dance and Jisung for vocal. He remembered how cross Jiyeon had been when she’d found out he’d made it and she hadn’t. Though, now, both of them were where they wanted to be. 

Even the food he had made him think back to days gone by, when he'd run home to the smell of bulgogi and bibimbap from the kitchen. The first dish he ever learned was tteokbokki. Though it was never as good as his mother's, he still managed to learn and perfect it before he went off. 

Memories flash in his mind of Minho trying to teach Jisung to make his killer jjajangmyeon and Jisung ultimately failing. He could see Minho's piercing eyes as he tried to figure out where he went wrong. But everytime he looked back at his partner, his expression would melt to that of a puppy. 

They used to be so, so, in love. 

Jisung's old room was exactly how he remembered it except cleaner. His desk was pretty much cleared, unlike when he was still in school. There used to be piles upon piles of paper stacked there — some being homework he had to finish, some being lyrics written on a whim. His old pencils had been replaced with sharp, new yellow ones, in contrast to the multicoloured madness he used to know. Where there were once stacks of books and CDs, there was now only the emptiness of the blank table. He hoped they hadn’t sold his CD player. 

He sat down on his chair, pretending he was back in high school. He could already hear Minho gabbling at him from the bed during their study sessions together - "Yah, Sung, did you even pay attention? Did you doze off in class again? You're not gonna pass if you keep this up!" 

Minho.  _ Minho.  _ Everything came back to that one Lee Minho. In fact, just being in this very town reminded him of Minho. He could go to every place in this neighbourhood and think of at least one way he could tie it back to Minho. 

So why did they have to leave? 

Why had they decided, way back when, to end this tender blossom of a relationship? They were just two punks desperate for each other, so why did they want to stop that? Love really didn't even begin to describe it — they were beyond love, beyond understanding, and yet they decided to cut it off.

_ It's for the better _ , Minho had said.  _ I don't want to be the obstacle between you and your dreams.  _

And truthfully, he would have been if they hadn’t broken up. _Imagine what the press would think if they found out you were dating a guy in high school and through your trainee years. You know how close minded some people can be. Think about it._ _All your hard work and dedication, all crushed to bits by a singular scandal._

But Jisung couldn't afford to let Minho go that easily. 

Only now did his eyes land upon the box on the floor. Everything that made up his life before the company was in there. It didn't look that big, to be honest. He wondered how much stuff was thrown out, and how much was deemed worthy enough to stay. If it was his choice, he'd probably keep everything, but who knows how much space that would take up. 

He stood up and walked towards the box. As his fingers grazed the sides of the box, he found himself staring into the mirror by the wall. Only then did he realize how skinny he'd become. He'd always been somewhat smaller, but before his trainee years, he actually had some meat on his bones. Now, as he stared at his pale, veiny hand, he wondered just how much he had changed after Minho. He still hadn't had the chance to bounce back from the starvation of his trainee period.  _ Maybe I should start lifting weights. _

Thankfully, the box wasn't too heavy — dare he say lighter than expected. Carrying it towards the bed, he wondered what Minho would have said if he saw him in this state.  _ “What happened to you? All skin and bones. Eat some more! I’ll make you my jjajangmyeon. And don't you dare refuse it.”  _

Minho. 

He carefully lifted the lid off the box, and gasped. 

Pictures. 

So many pictures, so many frozen times. He'd kept them in the bottom drawer, the one he called the “drawer of memories”. Every single one, collected over the years. Some were Polaroids he took with his friends, others were ones he took with his camera, printed out. As he burrowed deeper, he found envelopes — letters, cards and whatnot. Some small trinkets he vaguely remembered. What was formerly a drawer of memories now was just a cardboard box. And yet, it meant the world to Jisung. 

He picked up a Polaroid, a picture of what seemed to be nine kids in a pool. Three were sitting on float toys and the rest were in the water, splashing around and posing. Everyone was smiling except for one, whose face had been coloured over roughly with a black marker. Jisung winced.  _ That's a wound that I hope I’ll never think about again. I could fix what happened between Minho and I, but I would never be able to forgive… him. _

The dance troupe from high school, while they were on their trip to compete in the provincial finals. His best friends from days past. 

_ That was a time _ , he thought again, flipping the picture to read the writing at the back.  _ Jeju Island, 5/31/20XX.  _ To think that this picture was taken nearly a decade ago. To think that it had been a decade since then. 

Speaking of the troupe, it had been a while since he talked to anyone. They had all given their contacts to him except Minho, but because of the trainee restrictions, he wasn't able to contact them all the time. The last conversations he had were with Chan and Changbin asking for opinions on some drafts, but even that was four months ago. Some he hadn't spoken to in years. He knew where Chan and Changbin were, but what about the others? What about Seungmin, Hyunjin, Jeongin and Felix? And most importantly, where was Minho? 

Hmm. Maybe not most importantly, given how Jisung kept telling himself to get over it. Surely, he could talk to the others, but not Minho. He just couldn't do that. It was still, even after all this time, too big of a risk. 

_ So why was he willing to risk it all?  _

He placed the Polaroid back in the box and absentmindedly picked up a printed picture. A picture of Minho. 

_ Ah. _

It was the first time he had looked at a picture of Minho since they broke up.

A bittersweet melancholy fell upon Jisung, one that tugged at his very being. He ran a hand through his hair, almost nervously fidgeting. The ache in his heart began to hurt again, like a weight pulling him downwards onto the bed. And so he fell, now on his side, fixated on the paper in his hand. 

He remembered it, all right. It was the one they took on the bridge, as the sun set, painting the sky an orange haze. He could feel the camera in his hands lifted against his face and the breeze ruffling his hair. He recalled holding his breath to get the perfect shot, the  _ click _ as his finger pressed down on the shutter. 

_ “And voilà! Behold, the shot that will guarantee me an A with Teacher Kim!”  _

_ “Only because I was your model.” _

If Jisung had to choose a picture that captured all of who Minho was, it would be this one. A gentle smile, one he would recognize immediately out of a million. Those soft eyes that showed him all the love in the world. That aura of warmth that made him feel so safe, so at home. All that raw emotion, all those cherished memories, all immortalized in one. 

_ “It’s for the greater good,” _ Minho had said that night.  _ “Because I love you, and I don't want you to be harmed by me. _ ”

_ “Why?”  _ sputtered Jisung.  _ “If you love me, why would you want to leave me?” _

_ “I don't!”  _ he yelled.  _ “Don't think I want to! But it's better to hurt now, before I ruin you later!”  _

_ “Then why?” _ The words were strained, choked out from the depths of Jisung’s soul. He fell to his knees, frantically trying to wipe everything away, to pretend it was all untrue.  _ “If neither of us wants it, then why?”  _

A tear fell to the ground beside Minho. Jisung looked up to see that he had turned away from him, his whole body trembling.  _ “Because that's not who you are. You aren't the type to lie to everyone. You aren't the person to pretend, to write songs about girls but kiss someone like me in the shadows. You wouldn't be able to hide anything. That would be your downfall.”  _

_ “I don't care!”  _ he cried out.  _ “I'll do anything! I want to be with you, Minho. I'll hide if I have to! Just please… don't go…”  _

He reached out, but Minho had already taken a step. 

_ “Jisung… you'll understand one day. I'm so sorry.”  _

And he was gone — ripped away from Jisung’s life. He left on vacation the next day, and blocked any sort of contact with Jisung. It was another month until Jisung had to leave for the company, but Minho had still not come back, so he was forced to move on without him. 

He put the picture back and fumbled around the box again, to no avail. Everything else was just Minho over and over again, like a dizzying headache continuing to cloud his vision. The other results of the photoshoot. Minho holding a cup of coffee. The two of them at an amusement park photo booth, making faces at the camera. Together backstage before a dance performance. His smile. His laugh. His eyes.  _ Him.  _ Jisung could care less about how terrible he looked ten years ago — he was too fixated on the faded memory of Minho preserved in the pictures. 

_ Minho. _

_ Minho. _

_ Minho, I— _

_ …  _

_ Never mind. _

He put the pictures back in the box and the box back on the ground, flopping backwards onto the pillow. How pathetic he was, crying over an ex seven years later, crying over something he should have forgotten long ago. He’d understood Minho’s intentions the minute they were brought up that night. Everything was logical. 

Forgetting was the hard part. Jisung had tried every trick in the book. He owed his success to his hard work and practice, yet many of those late night sessions were to distract himself from the emptiness that fell on him. Every once in a while he'd be reminded of something that had to do with the past and drown it in music, lyrics, beats and coffee. In the end, it proved to be good for him and his career as an artist. But something was always missing; a sort of biting misery that clouded him with every release. 

So as he stared at the ceiling now with his wet cheeks and misty eyes, his mind wandered more to the present. He had only two more days left to be at home. One, he’d already spent with his family catching up on everything. Perhaps it was okay to meet with the others? It would be a while before he'd come back again. 

He rolled over to his phone on the desk, found the correct contact and hit  _ call. _ It rang three times before someone picked up. 

“Hello?”

“Felix?”

“Jisung hyung?” 

“Yes, it's me.”

There was a bit of shuffling around on the other end and the sound of a door closing. “No way… No way the real J.One is calling me right now… Oh my…”

“Cut it, will ya?” pouted Jisung, “It's nothing to be so worked up about. I'm still your Jisung hyung. Not even J.One can change that.” 

“Okay, okay.” There was a laugh from the other side. “It's been way too long. How have you been?” 

“Well, I'm actually back in town for a couple days, now. Sorry for calling you on such a short notice… but I really want to see everyone again. You know, it's been forever, I'm sure you know and…”

“Yeah, yeah. Jiyeon phoned me the other day, actually. If you hadn't called me, I probably would have called you myself. Except I may have accidentally lost your number when I changed phones… Ah, well, I have it now.” 

“I see,” replied Jisung, silently making a mental note to slap Jiyeon tomorrow. “You think we could go tomorrow for lunch? To that barbecue place from before?” 

“I mean, I’ll try my best to tell everyone, but no guarantees that we’ll all be present. Well, like, I’m definitely coming, but I haven't really talked to a couple of them in a while, so I don't know exactly where we all are. I think Hyunjin might be in Paris right now or something…”

“That's fine. If they can't make it, it's okay. It's my fault for calling on such short notice.” He was itching to ask Felix the important question, and he finally found an opportunity. “By the way, can I ask you a favour?” 

“Hm? Yeah, of course.”

“Do you… happen to know how Minho is doing?”

The other side fell silent for a moment. “Look, I see what you're getting at, and I understand it, but…”

“I know. I just want to see him.” 

A sigh, and another pause. “He stayed in the city. We went to university together. He majored in dance and is training for the national ballet. I think he was gone for a bit but he's probably back right now, if that's your intention.” 

“Do you know where he might be?” 

“He invited me over to his place last year for Christmas. If I scroll up far enough in my messages I could probably find his address. It's a gamble, sure, but I mean, it's been long enough, right? It should be okay…” 

“Felix, listen. I know the risk that it could have on my career, especially because I'm not established in the industry yet. But it just kills me on the inside that I haven't gotten closure. It's been seven years, yeah, but I've hurt every day for those past seven years. And this is my first time back in forever. I miss you all, of course, but it would really kill me if I didn't see Minho again. Please understand.” 

“I do,” sighed Felix. “I really do. I’ll help you, I guess, but everything else is beyond my ability. I’m sure I can't begin to understand the hurt you had to endure… you two were really the dream team back then.” 

“Thank you so much,” A tear fell onto the pillow. “Like, actually. I don't know how I’ll ever repay you for this. Thank you.” 

“It's all good, man. BBQ tomorrow is fine. Go get some sleep. It's late. I’ll send you the address when I find it, and I’ll ask Chan hyung if I don't. It's okay. It's gonna be okay.”

“Thank you so much for everything, Felix.”

“Anything for you, hyung. See you tomorrow.”

“See you too.”

_ Click.  _

“Maybe I really should get some sleep,” muttered Jisung as he threw the covers over his body and hugged his pillow just a little bit tighter than before. 

~

He woke up early the second day. As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his mind echoed the events of last night. Immediately he reached for his phone, seeing Felix’s texts to him at two in the morning —  _ It took me forever, but I finally scrolled up far enough. Here you are. _ \- followed by a screenshot. The next message read:  _ I've contacted everyone from before. So far it's confirmed that Chan, Changbin, Seungmin and I will come. Like I said, Hyunjin’s in Paris. so he’ll try to video call. Jeongin said he's studying for exams…  _

_ That's fine. _ Jisung texted back.  _ It's good enough. _

Felix replied back a moment later.  _ You're awake too, huh. Good morning.  _

Jisung was about to put his phone down before it lit up again.  _ Did you get the address? _

_ Yeah.  _ he sent back.  _ Thanks. _

With that, he set his phone back down on the table, yawning as he stretched. Obviously, today was going to be big, and he might not even get the chance to be with his family at all. He really had to be efficient with who he chose to spend his time with — there were just too many people he needed to see, and his minutes were ticking away. As much as he hated ditching his family again, he felt it was necessary, just this once. 

He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror; a tired man with faint bags under his eyes and a head of disheveled hair stared back at him.  _ When did I become such a mess? I have to find Minho today… I could never do that looking like this.  _

A morning shower and a touch of makeup later, Jisung was in the kitchen. If he couldn’t be with his family today, he should cherish this time right now. He took his mother's apron — the same one she had been using ever since he was little — and tied it around his own waist, making sure to tie a nice bow at the back. After a peek at what was in the fridge, he got to work. 

Jiyeon stumbled in as he flipped the pancakes, bacon sizzling on the stove. “Western style today?” 

“What does it look like?” He tossed the dough in the air, catching it in his pan. A technique he had perfected while cooking for himself in the dorm. 

She yawned. “It beats the congee Mom makes all the time.” 

By the time the remaining members of the house came to the kitchen, the pancakes were stacked neatly on top of each other, the bacon had been moved off the stove and a delicious plate of scrambled eggs sat in between it all. “I made plans with friends, so I’ll probably be gone all day today,” Jisung said as he brought over the maple syrup and whipped cream. “I made breakfast as an apology.” 

“Oh, dear, don't apologize! You only have so long. I'd hate for you to disregard your friends during this time,” his mother reassured him as she sat down at the table. “Is it those boys from high school?”

“Yeah, Felix and the others.” He set down what was in his hands and pulled out a chair. 

“They sure were sweet boys,” she sighed. “Well, then, have fun.”

“Hey Jisung,” Jiyeon piped in. “Aren't you gonna go see Minho?”

He froze. Though he knew his parents didn't mind now, he was still a bit uncomfortable mentioning Minho around them, especially because of their previous reactions. “Uh, well, hopefully? I don't know…” 

“That Lee Minho came by a couple months after you left.” grumbled his dad through a mouthful of pancakes. “He brought a letter. Said to give it to you the next time we saw you. Jiyeon, don't you remember where we put it?” 

_ A letter? _

“Didn't we put it in the box?” She stared upwards, deep in thought. “If it's not in the box it's probably in a drawer or something.” 

Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to just stop after looking at a couple pictures, even though they had shaken him to his core last night.  _ But that letter needs to be read,  _ thought Jisung as he dashed straight to his room. 

“Wait, Jisung!” his mom called. “Aren't you going to eat?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll just be a moment.” he called back, trying to ignore the whispers that followed as he shut the door. 

He took out the box again, fumbling through the letters and cards in the box. Most of them he remembered seeing and reading once before, until his eyes landed on a paper airplane, semi-crushed by some of the trinkets. As he unfolded it, he recognized Minho’s handwriting immediately.  _ This must be it. _

_ “Jisung-  _

_ I don't know when you’ll see this letter. It could be in a month, in a year, whatever. I hope you're doing well wherever you are. I’m sorry I couldn't be there, but I know you understand why.  _

_ It’s been really hard for me too. I guess that's sort of why I started writing this letter. It's funny because when I decided to go through with my plan before, I always thought you'd come back. Like you'd continue to be as stubborn as you are, somehow finding my contact info and reaching out anyway. But you haven't, at all. And now I miss you more than ever.  _

_ I'm pathetic, I know. Thinking that you'll come back, like you're some kind of pet or something, when you're a whole other human being with emotions that I didn't think about. This isn't how I should treat the one I love, and you don't deserve to be treated like this either. I'm sorry. I really am. I guess I'm just reaching out for a miracle or something, like maybe you'll read this letter, maybe I’ll be able to see you again someday. This really is my single thread of hope right now to recover from the hurt we've both had to endure. I'm sorry.  _

_ I don't know where I’ll be when you read this. I miss you so much. And I'm so, so, sorry.  _

_ -Minho”  _

“Stupid,” Jisung croaked out of the lump in his throat, crumpling up the letter in a ball and tossing it in the trash. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” 

He didn't return to breakfast with his family. Instead, he stayed in his room, curled up on his bed, holding his pillow tightly as he did the night before. His mother called from the other side that they were tidying up the dishes, but he was too miserable to care and barely mumbled in response. Truly, it had been a mistake to read that letter, especially so early into the day. Yesterday night may have been melancholic, but now today he was doomed to be in misery. 

The snowflakes falling outside the window used to be nostalgic in a way that made him think back to smiles in the snow, the cold of the snowballs hitting his face, contrasted with the warm of his cheeks. And though that nostalgia remained, it was now paired with a blank daze that reminded him of memories frozen in place, buried in the snow. Pictures of times long past — the fragments of which he tried so desperately to catch but never did, like wanting a snowflake to land perfectly on your tongue. The cold of the winter was always threatening to creep up upon him and consume him with its nothingness, extinguishing that last flame of his soul with its eternal blizzard. Yet, as difficult as it was, he always found a way to keep that fire alive. 

He checked his phone.  _ 9:38AM. An hour until go time.  _

Maybe he could sleep it off. Maybe he could drift off into his well-deserved slumber and forget just a little bit of the soreness. Then again, time was ticking away while he continued to contemplate. Maybe he should just sleep like he should have last night… 

-

_ Frozen.  _

Jisung’s mind was almost on autopilot. He'd miraculously woken up exactly an hour later and wandered out the door in a long overcoat and scarf, waving his family goodbye as he left. The way down the elevator and the walk to the BBQ place felt like a fever dream. Sure, he was moving and paying attention to where he was, but his head was somewhere in the clouds, unfazed and uncaring. 

As he stood at the crossroad before the restaurant that had shaped his teenage years, he suddenly jolted awake. He was breathing. He was alive. And he was here again, after seven years of being apart. His home away from home, where he would soon be reunited with his family away from family. 

He almost tripped and fell flat on the ground as he crossed the street, but no one noticed. That's the type of thing one has to practice when they’re famous — how to draw as little attention to oneself as possible. 

_ But I also had to learn how to make everyone look at me, _ Jisung thought as he pulled open the door to the shop and walked straight into a puffy winter jacket. He felt arms wrap around him, and looked up to a certain Lee Felix. 

“Jisung hyung,” The other boy held onto him a little bit tighter, and Jisung felt himself crack a smile. “I missed you so much.” 

“I missed you too, dummy,” Jisung hugged him back, and they hobbled over to the table, where they were subsequently joined by two other pairs of arms around them. 

“Seungmin! And Jeongin, you came?” He looked to the two newcomers, who had both snuggled into his scarf. “Aren't you supposed to be studying? Why are you here?”

“Hmph. You're no fun,” pouted Jeongin as he pulled away and crossed his arms. “I sacrifice my grades for you, and you have the audacity to reject me? You're still as mean as ever, hyung.” 

“Alright, alright, I'm sorry. I'm really grateful you're here. Though, I still worry about your grades…” 

“He’ll be fine!” chirped Seungmin, also letting go of Jisung. “At least, I hope so. Ah, whatever. One break won't hurt anything.” 

“Ah, that’s fine then,” Jisung looked up to Chan and Changbin, the latter of which was focused on something on his phone. “Hey guys.” 

“I'd hug you, but it seems like Felix is already there,” Chan laughed, which resulted in a pout from Felix and him taking his arms off. “Don't think that I haven't missed you either, J.One.” 

“Of course,” Jisung reached in to give Chan a hug. “I could never thank you enough for editing my mixtape drafts. Literally — I owe you my success.” 

“Aish, Hyunjin never picks up!” complained Changbin as just then, his phone started to vibrate. “Well, there he is now.” 

“Come on, Bin-ah, don't act like you didn't miss me either,” He held his arms out for a hug. “It's your turn.” 

“Don't act cocky. I did miss you, though.” The hug was returned, albeit a bit reluctantly. 

“ _ Hello? Hello? _ ” A voice rang through Changbin’s phone. “ _ Come on, let me see hyung too! Quickly! I have to leave soon! _ ”

The phone made its way through several hands before ultimately reaching Jisung. “Hey there Hyunjin. How's life treating you?” 

“ _ Wish I could be there with you _ ,” the small image of Hyunjin on the screen said. “ _ Ah, but winter fashion season is here, and they need to do shoots… and they need the token Asian model to pretend to be ‘diverse’. Paris is nice, but I’d much rather be in Korea. _ ”

“Yeah, come back!” Seungmin shouted. 

“Well, sucks to be you. We're about to have some nice BBQ, and you can only watch us. Shame on you for ditching us.” Jisung pulled out a chair and sat down at the table with everyone else. He propped Hyunjin up against a glass of water, so that he could see everyone. 

“ _ Actually, I had some of the best ramen in Paris last night, and I have leftovers. So ta-ta, who's the real sucker now? _ ” 

“Mrs. Cho’s beef is definitely much better than what you're eating!” Jeongin said in between sips of water. 

“ _ Hmph. Suit yourselves. _ ” 

There was a bit of silence between them while Chan ordered. Jisung didn't even need to interrupt him — after all these years of eating out together, he knew exactly which ones to pick. So Jisung took this time to look around the shop, and only then did he realize the subtle changes the store had undergone during his absence. The faded yellow walls he knew from before had been repainted, the small cracks all filled in. Paintings now hung perfectly horizontal — it was hard to imagine that they used to keep falling off all the time. The fish tank Jisung remembered from his childhood was moved from the cashier counter to the entrance, and as he squinted he noticed new fish swimming in a larger, much clearer tank. It definitely needed the renovations, being an old store and all, but the improvements came at the cost of his memories and attachments to the past. 

Even his friends, Jisung thought, had changed so much within the past few years. Chan was still as caring as always but Jisung could sense a hint of fatigue in his voice. Past his stage of teenage rebellion, Changbin was warmer and more open. Hyunjin taking a modelling job was a shocker to Jisung — he’d had always rambled on about interior design. Felix, Jeongin and Seungmin had all matured past their previous antics in their own ways, though retaining a youthful spirit. But at the end of the day, they were still themselves, and they still held that same love for each other. 

And maybe Minho, too, was still holding that love after all these years. Maybe Minho was still out there somewhere, longing to meet his old friends again. From the way Felix spoke about him, it was like he had been distant for a while. But it didn't mean he was gone forever, right? There was still a chance he would come back to where he was before, despite the ebb and flow of time that washed upon everyone. That love… it was there to stay, wasn't it? 

“Food’s here!” yelled Jeongin, snapping Jisung out of his thoughts. He looked up at Chan carefully putting the sliced meat on the grill. “Tonight, we dine like kings!” 

Jisung smiled to himself as he picked up his own chopsticks. Time could flow and people could change, but barbecue — barbecue was eternal. And maybe some nice nostalgic conversation and warm food could thaw his frozen mind. 

“You look distracted,” Felix said to him amidst the others’ conversation. “What's up?” 

“Ah, nothing big,” Jisung took another piece of meat from the grill, shoving it into his mouth. It had been a while since everything had been cooked, and Chan was currently ordering another plate. 

His friend leaned in closer, and in a lower voice, asked, “Is it about Minho?” 

Normally, Jisung would have jumped out of shock. But he had fame now, and with fame came the need to be a good actor. Despite that, he decided to be honest with Felix. “I'm just a bit nervous, that's all. We haven't communicated at all since… you know… everything happened.” 

Felix leaned back in his seat. “Seven years, huh? Hell, it's definitely been a while. I don't blame you, really. It must have been tough on both of you.” 

“No kidding,” sighed Jisung. 

“Hey, how about this. Do you have a ride? I’ll drive you back,” Felix checked his watch. “Or, drive you there. You just think about what you need to say, okay? It's the least I can do for you.” 

“Alright then. It's a deal.” 

“Yah Jisung! Stop muttering there with Felix! Come on, tell us what it's like to be a rockstar!” It was Changbin, trying to welcome him into the conversation. “We're past our prime now, so tell us about the experience we've never had!”

“First off, I'm not a rockstar! I just happened to train and debut and somehow, people like my stuff! And jeez, you're not even that old! We're not even that old!” 

Jisung looked to Felix, who gave him a smile. 

_ Maybe I should stop thinking about the future and focus on the present for a bit. _

~

“I just don't know why it took me so long.” 

They were sitting there in the car now, parked in front of what was Minho’s apartment complex in the heart of the city. Traffic hadn't been terrible, but the more Felix drove, the more Jisung wanted something to happen — an accident, construction, whatever it could be to stall time. And now his body couldn't move, as much as his mind wanted him to. What he wanted was right there within his reach, but he was rooted to his seat. 

“What do you mean?” asked Felix, resting his arms on the steering wheel. 

“It’s been three years since my debut. There were many times where I could have come home and taken a break from everything, but I chose not to. Why? Why was I so afraid?” 

“You weren't ready. You lived these seven years with this wound, and while it may not have closed up, you've at least gotten used to that feeling. So when you're given this chance to make a change, you're hesitant to do that, because it's out of the ordinary. You've avoided it for so long that you don't want to care about it anymore.” 

“I swear I do! I miss him every day. It's just…” Jisung sighed. “I'm scared, Felix. What if he really doesn't care anymore? What if he's moved on from what he said in the letter? What if he hates me? What if all of this has just been useless?” 

“A letter?” Felix looked puzzled. “You never mentioned a letter.” 

“He sent me one, apparently, a bit after I left for the company. Basically, he's sorry. But that letter’s like, seven years old. He could have changed.” 

“If you're able to think of the possibility that he could’ve changed his mind, why can't you accept the possibility that he could've  _ not _ changed his mind? If it's 50/50, don't just think about one 50, think about the other one too! And besides, even if he has changed his mind, even if he hates you, which he wouldn't by the way, there's really no harm in meeting again. If he hates you because of what he did to you, maybe it's time for him to come to his senses and face his own problems. Now shoo.” Felix unlocked the car doors. “Get out and go.” 

“Felix—” 

“I know that you're just gonna keep moping and talking yourself out of it. Let's go.” 

With a shaky sigh, Jisung unbuckled his seatbelt, slowly opening the door and stepping outside. “Will you be waiting for me down here?” 

“Only if you want me to.” 

He thought about it for a moment, forcing his willpower into his body. “Go. I'll get myself home.” 

“Alright then. Don't forget I love and care about you, Han Jisung.” 

“The same to you, Lee Felix.” 

“Bye, now.”

“See ya.” 

The car pulled out of the parking spot and disappeared into the flow of traffic. A cool gust of wind blew through every hair on Jisung’s body, reminding him again of what he was here to do. 

_ Reach out for that miracle, Jisung. Just like he did. _

He turned and walked into the building. 

~

Up to the fifth floor, a turn left, the third room on the right. Jisung had never been in this building before, but it still felt so nostalgic, like Minho had flooded the place with his aura. And it was exactly the type of place Minho would live in. A clean, modernist design, yet still retaining that feel of coziness, that feel of home. It shrouded Jisung like a blanket, calmly pushing him forward to everything he needed. 

One foot after another, he made his way through the hallway.  _ Just keep going. Just keep reaching out. He's there. Just keep reaching out, and you'll touch it… _

It was only when he arrived at the door that his mind came to a screeching halt. 

_ What if he's not home? What if he doesn't want to see me? What if … I just can't do it?  _

_ …  _

_ I'm braver than that. I'm Han Jisung. I'm Korea’s superstar rapper. I can … do this.  _

He raised his arm centimetre by centimetre, as if he was moving in slow motion. Hell, everything felt like slow motion right now. He didn't know how long it took him to get from the elevator to here but it sure felt like forever. And now he was standing outside the door, reaching out again. Like he had been doing alone, all these years. 

One knock. Two knocks. Three knocks. 

Footsteps. Coming towards him. 

He held his breath.

The creak of a door opening. 

“Lee Minho.”

“Oh my god.” 

What happened next was a blur of tears, of fabric against fabric, hands crying out to each other’s touch. A dash of warmth - no, the warmth was still there within reach and he was holding on. He would never let go. Never again. He pressed himself against it, grabbing onto it so tightly he was afraid he might choke. His balance was off and his dirty shoes were probably tracking on the floor, but he didn't care. This was his miracle, that he had been waiting for all these years but never had the courage to grasp. And the more he pushed through, the closer it got, until this precious moment. 

He choked out a sob as the warmth wrapped around his back, into his hair, on his shoulder. So he held on tighter than ever before. 

“M’sorry,” he coughed, “I'm so sorry.” 

“Jisung—”

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!” 

There was another watery cough — not his — that answered. “Why are you sorry? What do you have to be sorry for? If anything, I should be sorry!” 

“I just—” And he couldn't stop it this time. He buried his face into Minho’s shoulder. “It took me… so long… to come back. Seven years… to read that letter. Too… long… seven… years…”

The grip on his head and back tightened. “It's okay… as long as you got my message.” 

He pulled back to cup his hands around Minho’s face, almost to verify if he was real, this was  _ real _ . At last he got a good look at what he had missed. Minho was older now, his previously softer, childish features replaced with something more angular, more mature. Time had certainly passed from high school until now. There was still sorrow in those deep brown eyes Jisung loved so much; but maybe, he could fix that. Maybe he could give life to them again. 

Jisung smiled a bit, and Minho smiled back. 

So he brought their lips together — fiery and passionate, so full of words unspoken, so full of longing, of desire for each other. And he felt it — the long nights in the studio washing away, all the lyrics, the memories, the pain, all the doubts he had before were gone, even if just for a moment. The flame from seven years ago had been blown to embers, but was now burning anew. He would never extinguish it again. Ever. 

Absentmindedly, his fingers found their way up behind Minho’s head, wanting to pull him closer, the feeling just now not enough to fully start to heal the hole in his heart. Maybe Minho felt it too, as his head moved further into the kiss and his mouth parted. Warmth, just warmth. Something he had missed so much, tried to replicate, but ultimately failed to. But all he had to do was reach out — just a little bit more, just another step forwards — and it was back here within his grasp. 

He still felt that warmth, even as they slowly pulled away from each other and their eyes met again. 

“Come in. I’ll get you some coffee.” 

“A-Americano?”

“Just the way you like it.” 

The interior of the apartment was just how Jisung had imagined it. Minho had mentioned to him before, way back when — “A decently sized place, somewhere near the city. Not too big and not too small. It has to have big windows, because sunshine is good for you. Just enough furniture to not be cluttered. That's the type of place I want to live in.” And here he was in that very place. Maybe it was his emotions going haywire, but everything around him just screamed  _ Minho. _

His breathing was still ragged as he sat down at the dining table. Minho was behind the counter, busy taking ingredients out of the cupboard to make coffee. 

“Do you still work at the café?” 

“Had to quit.” sighed Minho, not raising his head from his task. “I ran out of time in my schedule, and National Ballet pays me enough, so I didn't have to take a second job. Fortunately—” he winked at Jisung- “I still know how to make everything.” 

“Of course you do. I wouldn't expect any less from you.” 

He watched as Minho mixed the freshly made espresso and the hot water together. With a swift hand motion and a swirl of cream, his coffee was ready. “One Americano with extra cream here for Han Jisung.” announced Minho, bringing two coffees over. “And another for Lee Minho.” 

“Just like the old days.” 

“Yeah, but I've perfected my coffee skills over the years.” 

As he stared at the drink before him, he felt his eyes well up again. “Sorry-” and Minho handed him a napkin— “I just… can't believe this is real. You're real. I'm not dreaming.” 

“It's me in the flesh. At least, I hope I'm not just a dream.” 

Jisung choked — somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He heard a sigh, and then Minho’s arms were around him again. “There, there, now. Have some coffee, okay? Don’t cry.” 

“I didn't know… if I would see you again. I'm… sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry. Please. It's not your fault at all. I'm the one who should be sorry.” 

“Maybe…” Jisung looked up with glossy eyes, “We… both have things to be sorry for.” 

“Me more than you.” 

“Of course not.” 

And so he buried his face into Minho’s shoulder again, as the other stroked his hair and rubbed up and down his back. “C’mon, it's okay. Don't cry. The coffee’s getting cold.” 

After a while his breathing returned to normal, and they finally sat down across from each other, drinks in hand. “See, I told you it would get cold,” Minho said as he took a sip. 

“It's fine. I’ll just get you to make me more.” 

“Who said that I’ll make more?”

That comment earned him a glare from Jisung.

“So how have you been these past seven years, Lee Minho?” 

The other put down his coffee, pondering for a moment. “I guess… not the same. It really wasn't what I expected.” 

“How so?” 

Minho sighed. “I hurt you. I left you. I knew it was probably the right thing to do, and I'm sure you understand now, with idol life and whatnot, but I… felt so guilty. Everything was painful, of course, but I brought this guilt onto myself, and onto you. Which I'm… really sorry for. And I’m sure you probably felt more terrible than me… alone in the company… I should have been there for you…”

“No, it was bad, and I hurt, but-” Jisung lifted up his cup. “You made the right decision. I accepted it. It was for the better.” 

“I really didn't want to bring you down.” 

“I know. I know why you did it, and I feel in the end, I would have done it too. It was an unfair decision for the both of us, and we’ve both tried to cope in our respective ways. I’m just—” he wiped a tear from his eye— “I'm just so happy that I could come back— and that you were still here waiting for me all these years… I can't let go now…” 

“God, you don't know, I tried. I tried so hard. I tried to convince myself it was right, I tried so hard not to call you all those times. I was selfish to think you'd come back to me someday… Really, I feel selfish now that you're actually here—” 

“Aish, you worrywart. Shut up now. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was messy, but let’s not dwell on the past. We've done that enough already. Look at me, Lee Minho. I'm here. I'm back. I'm not letting you go, and you sure as hell won't be letting me go either. I can't forgive you for what you did before, because yeah, it did hit me hard. I did suffer. There were times that I thought about giving up everything. But I’ve found you again, so let's put that behind us. Let's end that chapter of our lives. It's okay to reminisce, but let's not mope about it, alright?” 

Minho laughed a bit. “To think I was the one telling you not to cry earlier. Now I'm the one in tears.” 

“That's just how we are, I guess.” smiled Jisung. 

There was a bit of silence between the two as they both basked in each other's presence. It was awkward, sure, but a sort of comfort came with it, a sense of security that they both had longed for for so long. At last, Minho spoke again. “I wrote you that letter before university started. I spent my summer regretfully, barely scraping myself together for the new school year. But I guess it worked out decently in the end. University… didn't end up being that bad. It was a nice distraction for all the thoughts in my head, for the most part, I think.”

He sighed and took a sip of his coffee. “I wish I could say I tried to forget you. I mean, I buried myself in work so I wouldn't have time to think. But you were always there in the back of my head, in my dance choreographies, in every Americano I made at the café, in every dream I had at night. My friends used to say there was a faraway look in my eyes, like something was always on my mind. I couldn't tell them. It just… didn't feel right for them to know about something that didn't involve them.”

“Some time in—” and he hesitated for a bit before continuing— “At some point I tried to find that feeling again. That same spark I felt when I met you. One girl confessed to me freshman year, dated her for a bit, didn't work out. Same thing happened in my third year. Fourth year I met another girl. She reminded me so much of you. Too much. I hurt her too, but she was too nice for her own good. The day she broke up with me, I told her everything — about you, about what happened, about how she was so much like you. Now, don't worry, I left out the part about you being an idol and part of a company. But she was too nice, I tell you. She said she didn't want to be a replacement, however she was happy I opened up. It was her that told me to reach out to you and stop trying to bury everything under, trying to find someone else to fill the gap you left behind. And she was right. I really was hurting people with the way I tried to cope. Again.” There was a longing look in his eyes, like there was something he had yet to do. “So I somehow scrambled past university and got lucky enough to be accepted to the National Ballet. I moved here, and I've been here ever since.”

He finished his cup and swallowed nervously. 

“You know,” he started, fidgeting a little with his hands. “The day of your debut, I was at Mrs. Cho’s barbecue back home. They played your music video on the TV to celebrate you and while I loved every second of it, I just… broke. Mrs. Cho herself had to come out of the kitchen and comfort me. It was hard, you know. I was so happy that your dreams finally came true, yet so sad that I couldn't have been there for you. I missed you so damn much, and seeing you on that screen, hundreds of miles away from me… I couldn't take it. I bought all of your albums, just trying to hold on to that last little bit of you I had left, and when I heard your lyrics, I just-”

“Stop,” Jisung whispered. “Stop.” 

Minho hesitated for a second. “I'm sorry, I rambled-  _ MMPH? _ ”

He was cut off by Jisung grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him upwards into a kiss — rough but bittersweet. “I told you to shut up,” Jisung said softly as he pulled away. “I told you to stop thinking about the past. I'm here. What happened before is behind us now.” 

“I'm really sorry, Jisung. I'm sorry for being so selfish. I’ll keep saying sorry forever.” 

“I'm sorry too. I'm sorry for taking so long to come back and read your letter. I'm sorry for not being there for you during your hard times, too.” 

“I—” And now Minho was crying, tears staining his pretty face. “I'm just so… grateful… that you're here again… I love you, Han Jisung… I love you so much…” 

Jisung took Minho’s hand, placing it tenderly against his face as they met each other again. “I love you too, Lee Minho… so much… something I could never describe in words or song…” There was nothing but adoration and gratitude in Minho’s watery eyes — years of guilt and unrest finally starting to unravel itself. But that was all in the past now. 

“Come here.” He led them over to the living room, where they laid down on the sofa, hands intertwined and hearts together, finally at peace. Truly, it had been too long since they felt like this; the warm heat of another’s body, the security of being with them, the love connecting their souls. He listened to Minho’s breathing turn from jagged to ragged as he calmed down. 

“Can you stay the night?” asked Minho, throwing his extra arm over Jisung’s shoulder. “I just… really don't want you to go.” 

“I don't want to leave you either. Ever again.” 

“So is that a yes?” 

“I'll… text Jiyeon later. I'm occupied right now.” 

That made Minho laugh a little, and Jisung cracked a smile. 

It was really just them against the world now. Jisung wondered to himself how he was going to hide himself from the public — the rational side of him almost jumping out and running away. But as he looked back to Minho before him, his eyes fluttered shut, his soft hair falling perfectly around his face, his hands still holding on tight - everything else in his mind washed away.  _ I’ll do it. _ he reassured himself.  _ I’ll find a way to make it work. I have to. I can't leave him again. _

“I still can't believe this is real,” he murmured to no one in particular. “I can't believe I found you. My love. My Minho.” 

A pair of lips planted a kiss on Jisung’s forehead. “You’d better start believing now, darling. Because it is real. You're here, and I'm here. That's all we need.” 

They found each other again, closer and closer, until even their noses were touching. The tears over days past had started to fade, and Minho was back to tasting like cream and coffee. He missed this. He missed it so much. He was baffled at how he was able to survive seven years without it. Just him and Minho together again, like they had always been. Just them, so, so, in love. 

Time was cold, like the chills of winter running down one’s spine. But snow — though a part of winter, it was comforting and nostalgic. It told not of icy nights and frozen dreams, but of the warmth of the winter, to be with one’s beloved. The scars of the past would never fade away completely, but they were always a reminder of what they'd been through, and how in the end, everything fit back together again. Love was fickle, hearts were thin and paperlike, but that never stopped anyone from chasing, from continuing to love one another. 

Miracles are out there in the world. If you happen to come across one, don't be afraid to grasp it, hold it tightly, and never let go. 




_ Hoping that you won't forget _


End file.
